


Softer than Before

by Clocketpatch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: 2013 Xmas The Time of the Doctor, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from <i>The Time of the Doctor</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Softer than Before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaffyr (kaffyrutsky)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaffyrutsky/gifts).



Crisp. The snow. The smells. The air.  
  
The Doctor stood in a snow-laced clearing of trees which weren't pines or firs or any Earth-based evergreen. "Convergent evolution, Handles, don't be so biased." The severed head whirled in annoyance, but did not interject that no biased information had been given; no information on trees or plant life – from Earth or Christmas – had been accessed at all. Sometimes, it was best just to let the Doctor monologue for a bit.  
  
"The root systems are where the nutrients are sucked up. Ten miles deep, right down into the juicy mantle, pulling up all that heat and energy. Those leaves are for gathering Co2 and releasing waste gases; nothing to do with photosynthesis. What would rely on the sun for food in a place with only five minutes of daylight a day?"  
  
The Doctor paused for a long time after speaking. Long enough that Handles felt the compulsion to answer the rhetorical question with, "Information unavailable to your query."  
  
The Doctor sighed at that. He held Handles close to his own face so they could look at each other eye-to-cyber eye.  
  
"What am I going to do with you?"  
  
"Information unavailable to your query."  
  
"Aren't you in a useful mood today?"  
  
"Information unavailable to your – "  
  
"Yes, I _know_ , Handles."  
  
The Doctor tucked the head back under his arm. It was feeling heavier as the years progressed. The Doctor wondered if he should be worried about that. There was a faint twinge in his knee and his back now when he walked, but it wasn't enough to need a cane. The tiny grey streak budding at his right temple was only a cosmetic problem. He could still protect this planet. Getting old, physically old, wasn't anything to be afraid of, The Doctor knew. He'd done it before. He was terrified.  
  
The air in the groves was oxygen-rich enough to make a human feel a bit tipsy after prolonged exposure. The Doctor took deep breaths and felt rejuvenated by the heady scent of the Christmas trees, which could only be described as distinctly… pine-y. The Doctor looked down at the too-heavy head of his robot companion.  
  
He thought it would be a good idea, maybe, to give Handles a mobility system before he got too physically decrepit to lug the old thing around. He could make the silly old head a bit more like K-9. That would be nice, and a useful bit of back-up when fending off attacks. Then again… perhaps giving a disconnected Cyberhead a new body wasn't the best plan. The Doctor sighed again and looked around the grove.  
  
"Well, what do you think then?" he asked Handles.  
  
"This unit does not think. This unit observes and processes data."  
  
"Well, observe and process data, if that's what you want to call it."  
  
The head whirled. "There are five hostiles thirteen metres to your left."  
  
The Doctor looked to his side. "What, where?"  
  
"Ten metres to your left."  
  
The dark spaces between the trees suddenly looked more ominous. The Doctor spun in a full circle, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to scan the brooding trees. "I don't see anything."  
  
"Four metres to your right."  
  
"Handles, there is nothing there!"  
  
"One hostile. One meter, behind your back."  
  
The Doctor turned, slowly, sonic held firmly before him. He could hear his attacker breathing. He could hear its poorly suppressed giggles of joy at having cornered its prey.  
  
"This planet," he enunciated, "Is. Defended."  
  
"But you aren't!" A small, solid body thwacked into the Doctor's side. Two, red-mittened hands grasped the Doctor's sleeve. A little girl with strawberry blonde hair – Emma Lee, the Doctor thought – looked up at him with a darling, mischievous smile.  
  
"Tag," she said, "You're it."  
  
The little girl ran off laughing. The Doctor saw her like a slow motion montage. So many children running through so many winter-magicked woods: Susan, Vicki, Victoria, Jamie, Jo, Sarah-Jane, Adric, Ace, Miranda, Rose, Rani, Maria, Luke, Clyde, Clara, Amelia, _Emma Lee_. And others, remembered and forgotten. They were all starting to run together, but none less important than the rest.  
  
Crisp. The snow. The smells. The air.  
  
The Doctor stood in a snow-laced clearing of trees and smiled.  
  
"This planet," he said, softer than before, soft as scent of snow on Christmas, "is defended."

**Author's Note:**

> Whose woods these are I think I know.  
> His house is in the village though;  
> He will not see me stopping here  
> To watch his woods fill up with snow. 
> 
> My little horse must think it queer  
> To stop without a farmhouse near  
> Between the woods and frozen lake  
> The darkest evening of the year. 
> 
> He gives his harness bells a shake  
> To ask if there is some mistake.  
> The only other sound’s the sweep  
> Of easy wind and downy flake. 
> 
> The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  
> But I have promises to keep,  
> And miles to go before I sleep,  
> And miles to go before I sleep.
> 
> \- Stopping by Wood on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost


End file.
